The Path of the Divine
by chase.dustin
Summary: Nolesh has begun to walk the path of righteousness, and will become a tool of the gods. Yet, struggling with his own beliefs and a sinister prime evil plotting against all of sanctuary, will he be able to become a sweeping wind? Or fall forever to the burning hells...


Wind swept at Nolesh's face. The bitter cold had come to Ivgorod, and soon the first frost would set. The green would fade and the bone piercing howl of the wind would fill the air. The cold death would bring new life come winters pass and that cardinal idea was seared into the monks heart. Death will bring life. His hand moved to his chest, brushing past the mats of hair and coarse skin. The symbols on his body pulsed as he ran his fingers along their edges, giving warmth to his cold exterior. "Your head will be shaved, so the gods may kiss you as you walk the path of the divine." The words of his master, Akurot, rang in his mind. Could the gods be scolding him now? Forcing the cold whipping wind atop his bald, neatly trimmed head. His hand made way to his face, brushing across his beard, and the inch long scar carving its way down his cheek.  
The trees swayed with the calm wind as fish slowly swam upstream. Startled by the wagon crossing, they darted north. Surely to spawn or make their way to a more comfortable feeding hole. "Boy, is everything secured?" The wagon's driver yelled out as the large, wood rotten, carriage made its way along the narrow rock laden path. "Yes." He was scared, not only for the wagons sake but for his own. What awaited him at the end of this path? Only eight winters and his father had already sent him away. There were other children along the caravan, kids that looked like him. Surley they were his age, if not his elder by barely a season, what are their ideas on the matter? His worry and question only grew as they ascended the last peak before the rolling foothills of Ivgorod. "Boy, upfront!" the wagon driver scowled. Climbing past the sacks of grain and chicken cages, he flung himself into the passenger seat of the old bench. "Now, your father gave me strict instructions on what to do with ye'!" A wave of nausea passed over the boy as the drivers sour breath clouded over him. Bits of rancid meat were ejected from the mans rotten yellow teeth, now and then, as he bellowed." Once we hit Ivgorod, you'll be off en attem. No if ands er buts!" " Your father made it very clear you was getting to the temple wiffout a scratch on your precious little head!" The boy was tired of this man. Always bickering, never stopping to enjoy silence. Since they departed he had told the boy what the "game plan" was 1,001 times now. Slowly, the mans growling became stifled, as did the rough uneven road. The wind had calmed and the smell had disappeared, only leaving the steady breathing of the boy. From when he was young, he could always seem to calm his mind. He could manage to make everything silent, all of his worries or fears go away. He didn't feel cold, he didn't hear sound. Everything became dull and he was left with his own mind to ponder what lay before him. The caravan made its way up the winding ridge. White pillowous clouds dotted the dark blue sky and there was green as far as the eye could see, a picture truly to be painted. Sharp jagged cliffs cut along the mountain and steep rolling faces of rock dropped off into deep canyons and gulches. Soon they would exit the mountains and venture into the foothills that stretched towards Ivgorod, the city of the divines. There, the boys fate was to be sealed. His quest to begin.  
The decent was steep. The road seamed to cave away more often than not, and had debris scattered through its length. It was an old trading road running from Lut Gholien, circling up to Ivgorod, making a pass through the dreadlands and finally turning for Enrsteig. The boy's father told him wild stories of tribes of barbarians, sweeping across the dreadlands, decimating everything in their wake. His father spoke of a Rogyarok, king of the west dread clan. Their fiercest warriors roamed the landscape, warring with other tribes. He was said to have killed an entire Khazra pack, beheading each one and making cups out of their hollow skulls for all of his warriors to drink from. Only the divines could say where he lay now. Stories of barbarians and far away lands comforted the boy, but nothing could ease the deep knot in his stomach. So unsure of himself and how he would perform when the time came. He worried for himself and his father and mother. How would they fare without him? So many questions not answered and so many things left to unfold. The boy awoke, as the sound of mighty gongs beat in the distance. How long have I slept? The boy thought. Thunderous hymns and divine prayer filled the air as they approached a glorious sun soaked city. They had reached Ivgorod.  
Rolesh paced across the stone bridge between the courtyard tower and the monastery gate. He liked the serenity the wind carried. Never the same, but always fresh, even on a cold night such as this one. When he was a boy he learned how to move with the wind. To utilize it with combat. He could be surrounded one moment, yet everywhere and no-where at the same. He used it often to lay waste to his enemies, eradicating evil and those who stood in the path of the divine. He looked down at his feet, so rough and broken. His toes melding with the stone, dirty and rough.  
The boy's feet, white and pristine rested on the stone in a grand courtyard. A tree, in full blossom stood in the center, it's leaves swaying with the warm gracious wind, making music almost, as it whispered "Attention!" The boy's face snapped towards a door. It was hard to see past all of the heads of the children there. Children much younger than himself, the boy now realized. An older man made his way to the front of the room. He stood on a wooden platform facing the audience of apprentices. He was bald, yet had a great, white, flowing beard. What an interesting man? The boy thought. "The gods have brought-en you here today. You are chosen from the holy script to become a tool of divine purification." This mans words rang with a resonance unlike anything the boy had ever heard. They drifted on the air and brought sweetness to his ears. "You will grow here, learn, prosper and become a holy tool. You will learn the balance of all things and the path you are to fulfill! It is the god's will." This was all so strange for the boy. The gods? His father scorned the gods for all they had brought-en Famine, death, hurt. The boy was always told to believe in nothing but himself, and that the gods sat in their mighty chairs watching the world burn. Why had his father sent him to be a messenger for the gods when he hated them? The old monk raised his hand and pointed. All of the heads in the young crowed searched and prodded for the direction the monk was seeing. The boy's thought broke when he noticed the silence. His head raised and was met by a long strong finger. Everyone's gaze was upon him, and suddenly he was confused and scared. The monk's fingertips exploded outwards and a vicious serrated spear materialized and shot forward at the boy. Without being able to inhale, the spear raced directly at him. Paralyzed with fear, the boy was unable to move. He felt a sharp, sudden pain, and his cheek began to burn like fire. The spear had stopped directly by the child's face, the holy blade still stuck in his cheek. The old monk closed his fist and lowered his arm and just like that, the blade dissipated into glorious, sparkling dust. The boy fell back, holding his face, crying. Amazement in the eyes of all the children, they looked back to the monk, only to realize he wasn't there. Instead he was standing over the boy."What is your name child?" he asked, in a voice so soft, it was barely audible to the rest. The boy looked up, tears flowing from his face, blood dripping down his cheek and covering his neck. "Nolesh...my name is Nolesh." The boy sobbed. The monk stood,"Nolesh, soon you will wield great power. Do not be afraid for flesh is only a carrier of the holy warrior's spirit." He turned to the rest of the crowd. "Now! Move towards the great hall." he bellowed with a smile spreading from ear to ear. "Your heads will be shaved, so the gods may kiss you as you walk the path of the divine."

This is my first attempt at writing actually. I am currently writing a few chapter a head of this point so if it gets good reviews I will continue posting =)


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